


If You're Thinking You Want a Stranger, There's One Coming Home

by lolcat202



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-28 06:38:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11412336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lolcat202/pseuds/lolcat202
Summary: Bill/Laura AU prompt based on a Hallmark movie where a young couple breaks up after he gets a record deal and goes off on tour and then they reunite twenty years later when she unwittingly books her wedding at his Vermont estate and him as the wedding singer.





	If You're Thinking You Want a Stranger, There's One Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [okaynextcrisis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/okaynextcrisis/gifts).



**I: Hometown Girl**

Bill eased into the apartment and shut the door with a soft click. The lights were out, save for a lamp that Laura had probably left burning for him on the end table. He pulled off his jacket and tossed it on the table. His aim was off – he was a musician, not a baseball player – and he managed to catch the glass dish that Laura kept on the table to hold her keys and send it crashing to the floor.

“Shit,” he muttered. It was well after 3am, and Laura had her comprehensive exams in the morning. She was one step closer to getting her master’s degree in education, and he was one shattered glass bowl closer to ruining it for her. Hopefully the bedroom door was closed and she didn’t hear his ungraceful entry.

A tousled head of red hair popped up over the back of the sofa, and she peered at him through crooked glasses. “Bill? Time is it?” she slurred as she squinted at him.

“Long past time for you to be in bed.” He rested his guitar case against the wall and leaned over the back of the couch, taking in the notes and books spread on the coffee table, the sofa and the floor.

“I was studying.”

“No kidding,” he chuckled. “What was it you said to me over dinner? If you don’t know it by now, you’re not going to?”

Laura opened her mouth to argue, but Bill shushed her with a quick kiss. “It’s late. Close the books and come to bed.”

He pushed her gently into the bathroom and dug out a t-shirt for her while she brushed her teeth and washed her face. By the time she’d joined him in the bedroom, he had the bed turned down. “You take such good care of me,” she said as she pulled off her clothes, accidentally sending her glasses flying as her blouse went over her head.

“Trying to,” Bill said. He picked up her glasses and laid them on the bedside table, then leaned in to press a kiss against her forehead as she settled under the covers. “Go to sleep. You have a big day tomorrow.”

“Mkay.” He was halfway to the bathroom when she called after him. “Bill? How was your show?”

“Good,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ll tell you about it tomorrow, after you’re done with your exam.”

Tomorrow, after her exam, they’d have a lot to discuss.

He was waiting for her when she got back from her exam. Her cheeks were flushed and she was smiling so brightly that it tugged at his heart – he’d seen her look like that before, but usually with him, and usually in bed. She was beyond happy. She threw herself into his arms, almost knocking him back before he could steady them.

“It went so well. So WELL. And that idiot Baltar was almost in tears at the end of it. I couldn’t have asked for a better day.”

Bill tried not to take offense at that. “Let me get you a glass of wine to celebrate, and then you can tell me all about it.”

She was in a chatty mood, and two glasses of wine and a home-cooked meal later, she was finally done dissecting every part of her exam and laughing at Baltar’s panic-stricken face when she closed her blue book and turned it in. “Bet he was up late last night, but he sure as hell wasn’t studying.”

Having met the jackass at a few department happy hours, Bill would have to agree. He’d almost punched the kid out the first time they’d met, when he hadn’t bothered to look up from Laura’s cleavage to shake Bill’s hand. “I don’t suppose they post the results publicly, so that you’ll know how badly you creamed him?”

“No,” she said as she picked at the last bite of pasta on her plate, “But if I’m really lucky, he won’t be in class next semester, and that’s all I’ll need to know.”

Bill tipped the bottle, emptying the last of the wine into her glass. “You’re kind of bloodthirsty, you know that?”

She giggled. “It’s one of my better qualities, don’t you think?”

He considered for a second, then gave a firm nod. “Yep. Ranks third behind your legs and your laugh.”

She laughed again. Maybe that should be #1 on the list.

“God, I’ve been going on for hours and you haven’t told me to shut up. I’m sorry. How was your show last night?”

He wiped his mouth with his napkin, then bunched it up and threw it on the table. Last night’s show was more than a show; it was a showcase for A&R reps from some of the biggest labels in Nashville. He hadn’t told her that because he wanted her focused on her exam, not on him, but after the call he’d gotten today…it was time to own up.

“Good. Very good. Better than good. I have an appointment tomorrow with Mercury Records. They might be interested in signing me.”

Laura shrieked in surprise, then pulled him to his feet so that she could throw her arms around him. She peppered kisses on his face. “Best day ever,” she whispered in his ear as she tugged him toward their bedroom to continue the celebration.

Later, as he hovered between sleep and awake with her naked body curled up against him, he decided that he had to agree.

**II. Follow Your Arrow**

He wasn’t sure what he thought would happen once he signed a record deal, but he sure as hell didn’t think it’d be this. Weeks on the road, playing tiny venues in tiny towns and sucking up to deejays in third-rate markets. Every minute of his day was scheduled by an aggressively cheerful marketing rep for the label, and by the time he got back to the bus, it was usually too late to call Laura. He set his alarm for 8am central time, so that he could at least say hello to her and tell her that he missed her before she left for class.

He missed Nashville. He missed _home_. He missed his girl. He even missed playing at the bar in the airport, because at least at the end of the gig, he could sleep in his own bed with Laura by his side.

“It’s not supposed to be easy,” Dee said.

“Huh?” He was halfway through his first cup of coffee, not ready for the pep talk that he could see coming.

“Earning your stripes. You think George Strait didn’t do this? Doesn’t still do this? You’re building a name, and so is everyone else we’ve signed this year, and that’s just this label alone. It’s not supposed to be easy.”

“Good,” he muttered into his mug. “Because it isn’t.”

Dee plucked the mug out of his hand and topped off his coffee. “It’s not supposed to be easy because it’s how we weed out the people who aren’t cut out for this life. If you don’t want to tour and let people hear you play, then go back and be a studio musician. If you want to be a real artist, suck up whatever’s bothering you and go out there and make that audience believe that you want to be there with them.”

She glared at him as she shoved the bottle of creamer across the counter. “In short, Bill, don’t waste my time.”

Two more days until he had a week at home. He could suck it up for that long.

***

He was expecting the apartment to be empty when he got home, giving him a few hours to crash in their bed before Laura finished classes for the day. He was expecting to be up and rested, and maybe have dinner waiting for her, and maybe put on some music – not his, but her favorites – and dance her around their living room before he worked up the guts to ask her the question that had been weighing on his mind since the first night he played in a strange town.

He didn’t expect to find her on the couch, wrapped up in an old blanket and sniffling into a wadded-up tissue. “Hey,” he said as he dropped his bag, “are you sick?”

“Flu,” she said. “Sorry. I know it’s not good for you to be around me with the germs, but I was going crazy at my dad’s, and I just wanted to be home.”

He knew the feeling. “Can I make you some soup, or some tea? Fluff your pillows?” The movie playing on the tv caught his eye. “Change the channel for you? You hate sci-fi.”

Laura shrugged. “I’m not hungry. And I don’t hate sci-fi, Bill.”

Well, that was news to him. “Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”

“When? In the two-minute conversations we have every three days? And if I’d told you, what could you have done about it?”

“I could have come home. You know that.”

She snorted, a wet, uncomfortable sound that made his chest tighten. He’d hoped his homecoming would be met with kisses and declarations of love, but this…he hadn’t seen this coming.

“You know you’re more important to me than a tour of all the dive bars in Maryland and Virginia.”

She picked at the blanket. “Maybe I shouldn’t be.”

“Laura, what the hell are you talking about?” He wanted to stretch out on the couch and pull her into his arms, let her sniffle and blow her nose against his chest while he ran his fingers through her hair, but the set of her jaw and the way she wrapped her arms around her chest, effectively blocking him from touching her, kept him rooted to the spot.

“I’m talking about you. Your career. You’re home for a week, then you’re gone for a month, and that’s important to you. Bill, it’s what you’ve dreamed of and it’s happening, and I think it’s wonderful. But while you’re gone, I’m going to be graduating from my master’s program, and it’s what I’ve dreamed of, and you won’t be there to see it.”

Shit, what month was it? He’d been traveling so much he wasn’t even sure anymore. “I’ll rearrange-“

“No,” she cut him off. “No, I don’t want you to do that. I want you to follow your dream. And I want to follow mine.”

He didn’t give a damn if it made her uncomfortable – he settled on the couch next to her and tugged at her hand until she relented and let him lace his fingers through hers. Her hand was freezing. He rubbed it between his palms, then brought it up to his lips for a kiss. “I thought we were doing that together.”

She shifted on the couch and turned her attention back to the tv, pulling her hand away to tuck the blanket more firmly around her waist. “I’ve had a job offer.”

“That’s-“

She cut him off again. “It’s in New England, and it’s a good offer. Better than I’d get in Nashville. Better than I thought I’d get _ever_ , to be honest. And I can say no and stay here and sit in this apartment by myself for 40 weeks a year while you tour and I sit and wait and wonder if someone else is going to look at you like I did when you’re on stage. And wonder if you’re going to look at her like you did, and wait for you to come home and tell me that it’s over. Or I could go.”

Jesus. How did it get so bad between them, and how had he not noticed? “Laura, I don’t care who’s in the audience if it’s not you.”

“You say that, but it hasn’t been me in the audience for months now. And I don’t know when I can be in the audience again. I can’t be your groupie, Bill, not if I want to be somebody in my own right.”

 _Shit_. Well, Dee had already warned him that he was one moody set list away from being dropped from the label. He could make a living as a studio musician. It wasn’t what he wanted, but the pay was good and the hours were a hell of a lot better. He could play someone else’s music, as long as he still had her. “Then take the job, and I’ll go with you.”

She shook her head. “That’s not why you came here, is it? That’s not why you’re gone for weeks at a time. That’s not why when you’re here, you’re up late writing or fiddling with your guitar. You came to Nashville to be a musician, and I’m not going to stand in the way of that.”

“Don’t I get a say in the matter?”

She shook her head, and he could see the glint of tears in her eyes. “You already did, when you signed that contract.”

He could feel the flush rising on his neck, and his hands balled into fists at his sides. This was _his_ fault? Every day she encouraged him to keep at it, every show she came to so that he’d know he had a fan in the audience, and she blamed him for trying to succeed? He wanted to yell at her, he opened his mouth to yell at her, but she coughed again, a dry, hacking cough that reminded him that she was sick, that she was feverish, and she hopefully didn’t know what she was saying.

He hoped she didn’t know what she was saying. “Don’t you love me enough to stick this out?” he asked.

She tore her eyes away from the frayed edges of the blanket. “I love you too much to make you stick this out.”

***

He had talked her into getting into their bed and pulled her to him so that her head rested on his shoulder. Promised her that it would all look better in the morning, and he took her hum as an agreement that the discussion was far from over.

When he finally woke, hours after she should have been up and on her way to class, he saw the open closet doors and the empty hangers where her clothes should have been.

**III. Leavin’ a Lonely Town**

Heartbreak had been good for his career, as much as he’d hated to admit it. He’d had some success with his first two albums, most of the songs written about _her_ , but as the years went by and the ache dulled, he discovered that he couldn’t write unless he had something to write about. So he went out and found another someone, and the less said about the songs he wrote about Carolanne, the better. The only singles that came close to charting were about the two boys they’d had in quick succession. His last hit had been about the breakup of their marriage. Apparently country music fans loved lyrics like, “If it had been her, it never would have ended.”

Carolanne did _not_ love lyrics like that, and the divorce nearly bankrupted him. Thank God Mercury had good lawyers. He cut another album before they cut him loose, and he didn’t have the energy to try to find another label. He had money in the bank, he’d made a name for himself, and he was free to do whatever he wanted.

So he moved to New England. Lee was in school in Vermont, and Zak was always up for a new adventure while he tried to figure out what he wanted to do with his life. And, he’d never admit it to anyone else, but he wanted to see for himself what was so great about New England. He bought a farm not too far from Burlington, converted it to event space. Got himself some goats and hired a kid named Billy to make cheese and stock the gift shop. The countryside was beautiful, especially in the fall – a far cry from the humidity and traffic of Nashville, and he liked the peace and quiet on the farm at the end of the day.

Stupid romantic that he was, he liked the weddings the farm hosted almost every weekend. He even sang at them when the need arose, because raising goats was all well and good, but he still wanted to pretend he was a musician, even if he’d been dropped by his label.

Watching kids dance in the barn he’d restored over two years, completely wrapped up in each other as he sang his own songs and wedding standards…he took a lot of pride in that. Took a little bit of credit for the day that they’d said their vows, and took a little responsibility to send them notes on anniversaries and hope that they were still going strong.

Someday, it would be Lee and then Zak getting married, but until then, he’d take on all the other kids that crossed his path.

But not _this_ asshole.

He didn’t know what it was, but something about Richard Adar set his teeth on edge as soon as he was introduced to the man. Saul didn’t like him either, that much was obvious by the way he’d muttered an introduction, but Bill wasn’t about to turn away business. The goats might not need a lot of upkeep, but Saul sure as hell did. Great roadie, shitty event manager, but the guy made him laugh, and that was worth keeping him around.

This guy though…this guy made him want to throw a sucker punch. Maybe he wasn’t cut out for customer service.

If Bill had to guess, he’d peg Richard Adar at about his age…maybe a few years younger. Clearly not his first marriage, and if he had to bet, it’d be a twenty-something trophy wife.

Something about him just oozed politician, and Bill had lived in Vermont long enough to absolutely hate politicians. But, the weekend was free, and the expensive suit led Bill to believe that his check wouldn’t bounce, so he penciled Adar Wedding into the calendar and went over the menu of services Valkyrie Estate provided for weddings.

Adar waved away the catering, insisting that he’d bring in his own caterers from Hartford. Of course. Food snobs from Connecticut ranked higher than politicians, but barely. Adar agreed to the seating plan and the décor – his fiancée liked the rustic look, apparently – and didn’t even raise an eyebrow when Bill upcharged him for top-shelf bar service.

At the end of the night, he and his staff would have first pick of the bar’s leftovers, and he intended to make the most of it.

“Music,” Bill said. “We have full audio capability, so if you want to bring in a band-“

Adar shrugged. “My fiancée hates music.”

Who hated music? Anyone who hated music had to be completely dead inside. Then again, he thought, watching as Adar adjusted his tie for the fifth time, anyone would have to be completely dead inside to marry this jackass.

“People expect dancing,” he said mildly. “That usually means music.”

Adar looked at the menu of services. “Your in-house band. That’s what we want. Make it easy on us.”

He’d have bet the farm that people had been making it easy on Richard Adar his entire life. “We can do that. Just give us a songlist a month before the event.”

“I’ll ask Laura,” Adar said. “No country music. I know that’s your thing, but she hates country music most of all.”

His heart skipped a beat. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that Laura was a common enough name, and his Laura certainly never hated country music. “No country music,” he agreed. “Now, if you’ll just fill out these forms and sign.” He pushed the paperwork across the desk. “We require a 50% non-refundable deposit to book an event.”

He required ten percent, refundable up to 14 days before the event, but this jackass didn’t need to know that.

“Fine,” Adar said. He filled out the paperwork and handed it back to Bill along with a check. He shook Bill’s hand and headed out, no doubt to have one last fling with a flight attendant or a college student before he had a ring on his finger, and Bill sighed as he fired up his computer to enter the data into his scheduling program.

 _Client_. Richard Adar/Laura Roslin.

_Shit._

**IV: That’s How I’ll Remember You**

_He shouldn’t be here_ , he reminded himself for the umpteenth time. He’d asked Saul to take over, asked Lee to sing, asked Kara and Zak to man the bar (the first in what would likely be many mistakes, but at least between the two of them someone should be steady enough to pour drinks by the end of the night). He should be on his vacation down to Florida, not sitting behind the bar of the B&B he’d built with his own two hands, waiting for his very own ghost from the past to come down and haunt him with an order of pinot grigio.

He shouldn’t be here, but the thought of seeing Laura Roslin again after 20 years was too much for him to resist.

He wanted to know if her hair was still that brilliant shade of red, if her eyes were still that green. He wanted to know if she still overdressed for every occasion. He wanted to see her with Richard Adar, see if she looked at him the same way she looked at Bill all those years ago.

He wanted to ask her what the hell was she thinking, marrying a guy like that.

Then again, he’d married Carolanne. Who was he to judge?

He just wanted to see her, maybe tell her that he’d missed her, tell her that he hoped she’d be happy.

Wanting wasn’t getting, and it was after midnight. He knew she’d checked in earlier, but she didn’t seem likely to come down and order a nightcap. He closed up the bar – left a mostly empty bottle of Scotch for Saul, who’d no doubt come looking for it soon – and locked all the doors except for the one that led to the patio. He took his own glass of Scotch outside to one of the wrought-iron patio tables. He’d finish his nightcap and head back to his little living area in the main house, with his books and his guitars and his collection of vinyl. The bar might be closed, the farm might have given over to the steady rhythm of cicadas, but he’d be awake for hours. Might as well go through his old LPs on the off-chance he actually had to play at this godforsaken wedding.

He heard the door to the patio swing open and click shut. Saul, no doubt, come looking for someone to drink to…whatever Saul wanted to drink to tonight. Shitty record execs, shitty studio jobs, shitty wives…shitty goats on a shitty farm in shitty Vermont. In the last 20 years, Bill had heard it all.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t know anyone was out here.”

He’d recognize her voice anywhere, but hearing it just over his shoulder sent a shiver down his spine. Laura Roslin, whispering in the dark. Her voice was a little deeper, a little sharper – she’d lost some of that Tennessee accent over the years, but he could still hear it in how she drew out her vowels

“You’re welcome to sit,” he said. His own voice had changed, God knew it had, and if God didn’t want to say it, the local rags more than covered Him on that front. Bill Adama, the future star turned has-been, singing to goats and kids. Both two-legged and four-legged.

Once he’d dreamed of selling out stadiums. Tonight, he’d settle for a drink with the woman he once wanted to marry.  He listened intently; only the rhythm of the cicadas broke the silence of the heavy darkness. Seemed that was another dream he’d tuck under his pillow and worry in his head when his insomnia got the better of him.

“Bill Adama,” she sighed as she settled into the seat next to him. He’d forgotten how quiet she could be when she set her mind to it. “Figures I’d find you here.”

“Figures, since you booked your wedding at my place.” He chanced a look at her, and the motion-activated lights gave off enough of a glow that he could make out the surprise on her face.

“Your place? In Vermont?”

He shrugged. “Why not? I have it on very good authority that New England is a great place to find a fresh start.”

Mentally, he kicked himself for that remark. 20 years since he’d seen her, and he was going right in to attack her? Jesus, no wonder she’d dumped him. He expected her to turn tail and run, but Laura Roslin had never failed to surprise him. Good or bad, she’d always surprised him.

“Not much of a fresh start when you’ve been here for 20 years,” she said. She toyed idly with the crank for the umbrella.

“Or ten,” he agreed.

She didn’t have much to say to that, so they sat in silence. Bill sipped his Scotch and waited for her to do something, anything…get up and leave, tell him to screw himself, ask why the hell he’d shown up now. He should have known that she could wait him out. She always did.

“So, you’re getting married.”

She hummed in response.

He’d been in this business long enough to know that a noncommittal hum was hardly an answer. Most brides were only too happy to gush about the ceremony, or their dress, or their ring. Give them the slightest hint of an opening, and he’d listen to 20-minute monologues about princes and fairy tales and tulle and babies and that damn happily ever after he’d never managed to find. Laura just sat, her fair skin glowing in the moonlight. She wasn’t thinking about a prince or a dress. It had been 20 years, but he hadn’t forgotten the look on her face when he sat next to her on the couch and listened to her tell him that they were over.

“I’m glad,” he said. “You deserve to be happy.”

“So do you, Bill,” she said. Still not looking at him, she rested her hand on his arm and gave it a light squeeze. “So do you.”

***

Another Scotch wasn’t enough to drown out Laura’s voice in his ears, nor was it enough to knock him out once he’d crawled into bed.

He wanted her to be happy, even if it meant marrying Richard Adar, but seeing her tonight…she wasn’t happy. He remembered what happiness looked like – when she was happy, she blushed. She jumped up, she laughed until she couldn’t breathe, she made stupid jokes, she grabbed her friends and pulled them into a hug. Or she grabbed him and pulled him into something else altogether.

He might have spent the last 20 years trying to forget her, but he’d never forget how alive she was when she was happy. He’d need at least another bottle of Scotch to erase that from his mind, but he had a gig to play the next day, and he’d be damned if he let her down again.

**V. I Met A Girl**

Ordinarily, Bill missed breakfast. Ordinarily, Bill wasn’t awake the whole night thinking about the girl he’d loved and lost, and ordinarily, he had better things to do with his time - like sleep - than sit in the dining room and pick at eggs and toast.

He was exhausted, and hungry, and more than a little pissed about the choices he’d made. He should have stayed out of New England, gone back to Jersey or moved to one of the flyover states. He shouldn’t be sitting at one of the tables in the dining room at 8am, wondering why he hadn't bothered to hire a decent cook.

Saul dropped a glass in front of him. “Bloody Mary, Tigh Style. Cure for what ails ya.”

Somehow he doubted that. He pushed the glass away, and Saul picked it up and drained half in one gulp. “Too bad, pal, the horseradish in this could give you just the kick in the ass you need.”

“To do what?” Bill asked.

“To stop being such a baby and do something for a change.”

Sometimes, he _really_ hated Saul.

“I am doing something. I’m eating breakfast and working on a set list.”

Saul raised an eyebrow at the full plate and empty sheet of paper. “Jesus Christ, Bill, just go and tell her not to marry that dipshit.”

Bill pushed his plate away. “Jesus Christ, Saul, go find a broom closet and dry out.”

Saul tucked the bloody mary into his arm and staggered to his feet. “I will, but because good things happen in broom closets, and because you’re a sorry excuse for a date. No wonder she dumped you.”

Once the weekend was done, Bill was going to fire each and every person on his staff. He was deep in thought about how publicly he could fire Saul when a soft voice caught his attention.

“Can I join you?”

 _Laura_.

In the cold light of day, he could see how she’d changed in the last 20 years. Her hair was shorter, and the lenses in her glasses were thicker. Years before, she’d worn his t-shirt and nothing else to breakfast this time she was fully dressed.

So much about her was different, but so much was the same. She still sat across from him and pushed the bacon from her plate to his. She still ate every part of her meal in a precise order; first the eggs, then the potatoes, and finally the fruit.

She still left almost half on her plate. She still raised her eyebrow at him, waiting for him to finish off what she’d left behind.

He wasn’t hungry. He was pissed. He was the about level of pissed he’d shoved down all those years ago when she’d been sick on their couch, and this time, by God, this time she was going to hear it.

“Are you insane? Marrying that guy? Laura, he’s a total asshole. Are you telling me in 20 years, you couldn’t do better?”

She blinked several times, and it wasn’t until she hid her face behind her napkin that he realized what a colossal dick move it was, to jump on her like that on the day she was supposed to get married.

“I’m sorry-“

She waved at him, not bothering to look up as she composed herself. Some things never changed – she was still the most stubborn person he’d ever met.

“It wasn’t about me doing better,” she finally said. She twisted the napkin in her fingers. “It was about us doing better, and we couldn’t.”

He pulled the napkin from her fingers and laid it on the table, far enough away that she couldn’t use it to hide how easily she was tying herself up in knots.

“We didn’t have much of a chance,” he said. “But we are here now, and I have a bunch of Yelp reviews that say I can do better.”

She laughed – a real laugh, the laugh he’d missed so much.

“Five stars, Laura. From the best the internet has to offer.”

If he dropped dead right now, he’d be grateful that he got to hear her choke on her coffee as she tried to contain her giggles. She took a handful of deep breaths, finally getting herself in control, before she looked at Bill.

“I’m getting married today.”

Was she? No, no she wasn’t, not if he could help it. “I hate to tell  you this, Roslin, but management reserves the right.”

Management reserved the right to shove Richard Adar down the garbage disposal, if necessary. God, he hoped it was necessary.

“What do you have to lose?” he asked, trying to keep his voice level. After all, he had the seating chart and guest list. Her parents and sisters weren’t on it; nor were her friends from that night when she’d wound up standing at the lip of the stage and begged him for his guitar pick. “All of these people have the whitest names I’ve ever seen. Frankly, putting a stop to this wedding would count as my civic duty for the year.”

“Bill,” she sighed. “It’s good to see you, really it is, but I’m getting married. End of discussion.”

“Do you love him?”

She pressed her lips together. “That’s not really any of your business.”

“That’s not really an answer.”

“I love my life. He’s part of it. I love what I have, and I want to keep having it. I can’t explain it better than that.”

He wanted to push her on the non-answer, but the last time he’d pushed her, he’d woken up to an empty bed and an empty closet.

“I’m glad you love your life,” he said.

She hummed again, then turned her gaze to the windows overlooking his fields. “Goats. Never would have expected that.”

**VI. This Time Around**

These days, political scandals were so common that he almost missed it. The mayor of Hartford, caught having an affair with an intern. He snorted as he watched the press conference- figured that a guy as bland as Adar couldn't even come up with an original scandal.

He studied the crowd on the podium. Politicians making political apologies and wearing political suits, but no sign of the wronged wife.

Tammy Wynette was never her style.

He’d had he date circled on his calendar for months – leave it to a slimeball like Adar to apologize for his infidelity on his second anniversary with his wife. He was glad he’d skipped sending a congratulatory note to the couple. He was taking more than a little bit of satisfaction from watching Adar squirm on the tv, but he’d never want Laura to be hurt by this, and getting a card from him in the middle of this shitstorm would most definitely hurt her.

He hoped she was somewhere warm and tropical, with umbrella drinks in hand and no reason to turn on the tv. He sipped his own drink and raised it to toast Adar’s announcement that he wouldn’t seek re-election because the people of Hartford deserved better. “Could have told you that,” he muttered.

“Told him what?”

Damn, she was sneaky when she needed to be. He looked over his shoulder. Laura Roslin wasn’t on a beach somewhere drowning her sorrows in piña coladas and steel drums – she was standing in his bar, holding a bag from his gift shop.

“That he wasn’t smart enough to not fuck up a good thing when he had it.”

She shrugged. “It takes two to really fuck something up, Bill.”

“What are you doing here, Laura?”

She held up the bag. “Goat cheese. I heard it was the best in the area, and I have some…free time these days so I thought I’d see for myself.”

Billy would be so pleased. “You know we ship. Even to Hartford.”

“Maybe I just wanted to enjoy it in person.” She shrugged. “Maybe last time I was here, I should have appreciated what you had to offer.”

He uncorked a bottle of pinot noir and poured her a glass. “The offer still stands.”

“Goats?” she asked.

“Trust me, you’ll love them once you get to know them.”

She settled into a seat at the bar and tilted the glass of wine to her lips with one hand, while the other reached out and laced her fingers through his. “You know, I think I will.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title credit - George Strait  
> Hometown Girl - Josh Turner  
> Follow Your Arrow - Kacey Musgraves  
> Leavin' a Lonely Town - Easton Corbin  
> That's How I'll Remember You - David Nail  
> I Met a Girl - Sam Hunt  
> This Time Around - David Nail
> 
> What? I did my research.


End file.
